


Bedridden

by platinumnib



Series: Babygirl [2]
Category: Epica, Nightwish
Genre: Ageplay, F/F, MD/LG, Sickfic, Smoor, mommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinumnib/pseuds/platinumnib
Summary: Little Simone is down with the sniffles, Floor does what she can to help.





	Bedridden

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr promptfill, please comment or kudo :-)

Nothing could make Floor more distraught than the pathetic sight of her usually lively girl bedridden, looking wan and feeble as she’d never seen her. The poor girl had made a terrible entry into winter, catching the flu in the first few days and quickly worsening until she couldn’t step foot outside of the house.

Naturally, neither did Floor, as soon as she’d made a trip to the grocery store to stock up on much-needed tissues and fill the fridge with fresh fruit, chicken soup and anything she knew to pull up Simone’s morale even just a tad.

She set up a comfortable armchair by their king-size, to which Simone was confined most of the day, bathroom aside, lest she stray too far from her gigantic stack of tissues and the packets of some expectorant, ibuprofen for the headaches and once-a-day oseltamivir.

That saturday was no different: coughs and sneezes and mommy Floor always loyal to her post.

Sitting up as much as she could, Simone uttered a few barely audible words.

“Please, mommy, would you pass me some water? My throat is dry.”

“Of course, sweetheart. It’s about time for your medication anyway.”

First she popped a white and yellow capsule out of the packet and handed it to her to swallow.

Pouring out half a glass, she carefully put it between Simone’s trembling hands to make sure she didn’t drop it, then watched her drink it one minute sip at a time to help the medicine down.

Floor prided herself on Smoony being such an unfussy and well-behaved little, even in those moments when anyone else would have just been crotchety and a pain in the ass to take care of. 

“Thank you, mommy.”

She handed the glass back and Floor set it on the bedside table, next to the drugs, before extending a hand to stroke Simone’s cheek, a chalky shade of white instead of its usual healthy pink glow.

“You’ll be alright, babygirl. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know you will. I know I’ve got the best mommy in the world.”

“And I have the loveliest little girl,” she smiled. 

Over the next hour or close enough, Floor didn’t budge, not even a minute; she kept to her chair, still caressing the tired face peaking out from under the blanket, lulling her girl to sleep in hopes of relieving her of her pitiable state.

She was well on her way to dreamland when Floor noticed a sudden shudder run through Simone’s shoulders.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked in her softest voice. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine, mommy,” came the answer from beneath the blankets.

Floor wasn’t fooled. She was shivering like never before in spite of the sweat pouring out of every one of her pores.

“I understand that you’d rather I not worry, but I’ve taught you before about always being truthful, most of all with mommy,” she admonished.

Simone nodded, slightly ashamed.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” she said by way of apology.

“Well, it’s very thoughtful of you, little one, but taking care of you is not a chore. And you need even more taking care of now that you’re ill, yes?”

She bobbed her head once more in acquiescence.

“Good girl. Are you cold?” she asked again, holding Simone’s hand firmly between her own.

“A little.”

“I’ll get you what you need right away. Will you be alright if I leave you alone for ten minutes?”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, mommy.”

She stood up and stepped out of the room then made her way to the kitchen. Simone closed her eyes, which she found to be the best self-reassurance when her mommy wasn’t on hand. Her eyelids were the only barriers to shut off the instinctively disquieting sight of Floor’s empty chair.

“Here we are, Pompoen!” 

Her cheery voice was heard a moment before she appeared, and with it, a pungent smell of sweet cocoa wafted through the air to soothe Simone’s runny nostrils.

She opened her eyes again, relieved to find the ten minutes had passed rather quickly and Floor was back. In her hands, a tray with a pot of hot chocolate and two of the many pink mugs they owned, and on her shoulder, an additional quilt.

“Do you think you can sit up for me?”

She nodded and slowly slid herself up until her back was against the headboard. It visibly took quite some effort, as her breathing was ragged and her moves quite clumsy, but the worst was that, now, there was only a pink pyjama top between her chest and the cold she complained about.

Floor hurried to set the tray on the bedside table and spread the blanket over her little’s shivering body then tucked every corner of the quilted fabric. Then, producing a thick scarf of grey wool, she wrapped it around Simone’s neck and made sure it fit tight and snug until the cold couldn’t possibly breach the fuzzy fortress.

“Now, are you still cold?”

Simone gave a little smile, feeling quite nice and cozy all of a sudden, encased as she was in her new, warm cocoon.

“Thank you, mommy,” she cooed in her babyish voice, the one only Floor was allowed the delight of listening to. It earned her a resounding kiss on the forehead.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. Now for some chocolaty comfort…”

Glassy as they were, Simone’s eyes seemed to light up at the mention of her favorite drink. She kept them aimed at the mug Floor was slowly filling with the dark brown treat.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

She handed her the mug and the sick girl took it - much more eagerly, it seemed, than her medication. First, she took a deep whiff over the drink, letting the scented steam mend her body and her mind. Already, she could feel herself getting better.

Bringing the mug to her mouth, Simone took a gulp and her lips stretched into a lovely smile.

“This is delicious,” she whispered with a sniffle.

“Then have more,” Floor whispered back and leant down to brush aside some strands of brown hair sweat had plastered on Simone’s face. “It’ll do you good.”

The docile sufferer took more of her potation.

Floor then settled back into the chair, delighted that her girl could still be happy about something. Again, silence overtook the place.

“Mommy,”

“Yes?”

“Were did you get this scarf?” she asked, poking at the muffler. “It feels marvelous.”

“I knitted it.”

She furrowed her brows and took another sip of cocoa.

“But mommy doesn’t knit.”

“She does when it’s for Pompoen. I made it a few months ago, thought it might come in handy someday.”

A sniffle and a nod.

“Thank you, mommy.”

Floor let out a contented sigh.

“Just keeping you warm and happy, sweetheart… that’s what I live for.”   



End file.
